Chapter 2 No Backing Down

As I entered my father's mansion, I could still hear the sound of giggles in my ears because I had just had a fun evening with my friends. The lively conversation and the clinking of glasses seemed like a distant memory at this point. I wanted some time alone to collect my thoughts before the weight of responsibilities settles back in.

My gaze immediately landed on the vibrant splash of colors that seemed to move over the painting as I entered the room. Every brushstroke the woman in front of me made was a symphony of skill and emotion. She was utterly engrossed in her craft and creation.

"What's this?" My tone was terse and irritated as I spoke. I apologize if I came out as harsh, but the night's partying had left me exhausted, and my father's fixation with paintings had always made me frustrated.

She said, her voice firm and resolute, "It's a painting." She looked at me with firm eyes ignoring my trespass. "Mr. Knighton gave this painting to me."

I took a moment to observe her, tracing the lines on her face and the way her brow arched in concentration. Her defiance intrigued me, and for a brief second, I found myself captivated by the fire in her eyes.

"Do you call this a painting? paint on a piece of wood and call it art?" Annoyed at my father for always being involved in painting, before turning to leave and rejecting her and her work with a careless wave, I didn't even wait for her to answer.

But her stumbling reply had me frozen in place. "W-what! What just happened? Her disbelief was clear in her trembling voice.

A look of surprise and displeasure flashed across my face as I turned to face her once more. I questioned, "Is this considered art?"

The silence that followed hung in the air like a heavy cloud. Her confused and indignant expression swirled in her eyes as she examined mine. Despite my haughtiness, she didn't back down or flinch. Someone standing their ground against me was a strange feeling, but I left.

My father's voice stopped me in my tracks as I was about to enter my room. I want you to meet Mia Turner, Alexander. She is a remarkably gifted artist.

"Dad, is it the lady down there? I already saw the trash she's doing, I shouted at him." Aren't you tired of doing this??? Is once not enough? thinking about my mother and younger brother.

You will meet her and that's final - I heard him say.

*********

My eyes shifted from my father to her. I could feel my father's excitement, all I could see was the canvas in front of her-the same canvas that had taken away my mother and younger brother.

I was overcome with a tornado of feelings, including rage, contempt, and tiredness. No matter how talented she was, I didn't care. The painting and the memories it represented were all that mattered to me.

I didn't stop to think before I walked forward and grabbed it to slam it on the floor which caused the canvas to break. The destruction was intentional and a reflection of the inward turmoil I was experiencing.

The room fell into stunned silence as the reality of my action sunk in. The sound of my father's voice was faint and his speech was hazy. The astonishment and hurt in Isabella's eyes were piercing me like a knife, and I was fixated on her.

I experienced a stab of sorrow at that very moment, but I didn't seem to care, this has to stop! I said, and I stormed out of the house.

Mia:

"Hey, Mia," Emily's voice said as she entered the room, her presence a pleasant distraction. She was my rock, my confidante, and the person who always knew how to cheer me up.

I gave her a small smile as I looked at her tired after leaving Mr Knight's house today in anger and thinking about my mother's house I'm about to lose if I don't do something about it by paying the mortgage debt. The fact that I lost my parent last year, has made life rough for me. Art is the only thing keeping me alive.

"Hey, Em. "What brought you here?"

Her grin was naughty, and her eyes twinkled with excitement. "I came to drag you out." Let's leave this painting at home for the evening and go to the bar. My friend, it's time to let loose."

I sighed, the prospect of leaving my work was both appealing and unsettling. "I'm not sure, Em. I have so much work to do, and the gallery deadline is quickly coming..."

She cut me off with a disapproving hand gesture. "Mia, come on. You've been stuck here for hours. A short break won't hurt. Besides, you deserve to have a good time."

My lips twitched with a hesitant smile. Emily had a way of persuading me even when I was at my most obstinate. "Fine, let's go."

In stark contrast to the quiet of my studio, the bar was a whirlwind of colors and laughing. The pulsing music and clinking glasses engulfed us as we sat on barstools, the weight of the day beginning to lift.

"Do you see? "Exactly what you needed," Emily remarked, her joy palpable.

I laughed and raised my glass in a fake toast. "To letting go and forget our problems, if only for a night."

As the evening progressed, I became engrossed in the crowd's excitement. The music seemed to pour into my veins, and I laughed uncontrollably. It was a pleasant break from the never-ending stream of concerns that had been devouring me.

Then he emerged - Lorenzo Knighton, the man who had completely ruined my day. He strolled into the bar with two men, looking hot and muscular like him, a shroud of confidence and arrogance surrounding him. My heart skipped a beat, and it wasn't a good one.

Emily shrugged in answer as I exchanged a bewildered look being that I told her about my ordeal with him and even showed her his picture on social media. "Well, looks like the universe wants to give you a second chance at a first impression," she remarked.

Alexander's glance moved across the bar, and for a brief moment, our gazes locked. My gut constricted, a wave of dread and frustration washed over me. He came closer, casting a shadow over our merry evening.

"Well, if it isn't the artist from earlier," he scoffed, his tone arrogant.

I shrugged my eyes at his outrageous behavior, unimpressed. "Oh, there you are again. "Did you come to criticize my drink this time?"

He chuckled, a mocking note in his voice. "Not this time, though I'm sure I could provide some valuable insights."

I couldn't help but chuckle. "I'll pass, thanks."

He took a bar stool and sat beside me, I wonder why though.

His emerald eyes pierced into mine, posing a challenge. "Let me make this clear, Miss Turner. Stay away from my father's house. I have no interest in your artistic endeavors cluttering our lives."

My annoyance was at its peak, so I raised an eyebrow. "In case you conveniently forgot, your father invited me. And I hardly think a few paintings would be considered clutter."

His lips formed a sarcastic sneer. "Take this as a warning. Don't cross the line."

My voice was tinged with defiance as I pushed in closer. "And then what?" "Are you going to break more of my canvases?"

His eyes shifted, a momentary suggestion of something I couldn't place. "Let's just say you won't like the consequences."

Our tension was apparent, a clash of wills and egos. I wasn't going to back down this time.

"Oh, I'm not one to be threatened," I answered, my voice surprisingly calm despite my anxiety.

A part of me couldn't help but feel an odd mix of frustration and intrigue as he turned to leave. Who was this man, and why did he appear so determined to sabotage my life?